Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE REPULSE TO ALCANDER, by SARAH FYGE EGERTON



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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE REPULSE TO ALCANDER, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: What is't you mean, that I am thus approached?
Last Line: And shun at once the censure and the crime.
Alternate Author Name(s): Field, Edward, Mrs.; Fyge, Sarah
Subject(s): Seduction


WHAT is't you mean, that I am thus approached?
Dare you to hope that I may be debauched?
For your seducing words the same implies,
In begging pity, with a soft surprise,
For one who loves, and sighs, and almost dies.
In every word and action doth appear
Something I hate and blush to see or hear.
At first your love for vast respect was told,
Till your excess of manners grew too bold,
And did your base, designing thoughts unfold.
When a salute did seem to custom due,
With too much ardour you'd my lips pursue;
My hand, with which you played, you'd kiss and press,
Nay, every look had something of address.
Ye gods! I cried, sure he designs to woo,
For thus did amorous Phylaster do,
The youth whose passion none could disapprove,
When Hymen waited to complete his love.
But now, when sacred laws and vows confine
Me to another, what can you design?
At first I could not see the lewd abuse,
But framed a thousand things for your excuse.
I knew that Bacchus sometimes did inspire
A sudden transport, though not lasting fire,
For he no less than Cupid can make kind,
And force a fondness which was ne'er designed;
Or thought you'd travelled far, and it might chance
To be the foreign mode of complaisance.
Till you so oft your amorous crimes repeat,
That to permit you would make mine as great;
Nor stopped you here, but languishingly spake
That love which I endeavoured to mistake.
What saw you in me that could make you vain,
Or anything expect but just disdain?
I must confess I am not quite so nice
To damn all little gallantries for vice
(But I see now my charity's misplaced,
If none but sullen saints can be thought chaste):
Yet know, base man, I scorn your lewd amours,
Hate them from all, not only 'cause they're yours.
Oh sacred Love! let not the world profane
Thy transports, thus to sport and entertain;
The beau, with some small artifice of's own,
Can make a treat for all the wanton town.
I thought myself secure within these shades,
But your rude love my privacy invades,
Affronts my virtue, hazards my just fame:
Why should I suffer for your lawless flame?
For oft 'tis known, through vanity and pride,
Men boast those favours which they are denied;
Or others' malice, which can soon discern,
Perhaps may see in you some kind concern,
So scatter false suggestions of their own,
That I love too: oh, stain to my renown!
No, I'll be wise, avoid your sight in time,
And shun at once the censure and the crime.





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